Dinner With Atticus
by scoutfinches
Summary: A piece I wrote for creative writing, it was a prompt asking that if I could have dinner with anyone, real or fictional, who would I choose? And of course, I chose Atticus Finch! :) I hope you enjoy!


_I remember falling asleep on the way to the Gulf Shores, in the family truck, on the freeway_.

My thoughts during the drive were stemmed from our planned pit stop the next day.

 _If we take it, that is._

It took not too long to wind up somewhere else.

On a bayou.

My dreams are never, ever, so lucid. And never, ever before had I ever been in a place so... Empty. My eyes scanned the scenery. None of which was at all familiar to me.

I was used to the purple and white of the Lions. I was accustomed to the dirty waters of the Three Rivers.

This, my friend, was nonsense.

Luckily, I wasn't in the water. I was along an unpaved road. The bayou was only a side view.

The dirt was brown and red, and so were my white, cloth shoes.

I had to keep walking. South. I felt it in my bones.

My hands were clenched and I was holding a beautiful golden pocket watch in my left. In my right, was a handkerchief. It was obvious I didn't own these items. I had to deliver them to their owner.

To get to the next town, I had no time to look. Just time to walk.

My feet ached by the time I reached the place. It looked like something you'd see in a movie.

 _A particular movie. One I had already seen._

It was suddenly extremely dark. And only one building had any light. A man was sitting alone under the light, a lamp. He was sitting in a wooden chair reading a book.

As I walked closer, a little birdie told me to look at the things I held in my hands.

The handkerchief had a name sewn into the bottom right edge.

 _Atticus, my beloved husband._

I was beginning to suspect that maybe, I wasn't in a real place.

A dream, obviously. But that town wasn't ever real, nor will it ever be.

I took one look at the pocketwatch, which displayed almost the same message.

 _Go to the jail, Grayson. Don't be a fool. Those are his things. Give them back and go home!_

I walked across the street, this time paved and smooth, to deliver these things.

Cars skidded behind me; Atticus didn't bother to look up. He was focused on his book.

The cars stopped for only a second. They saw me and sped away.

 _I'm changing this whole story... They're supposed to stop! And the kids are supposed to come running here, right about now!_

I turned my head and saw three pairs of young eyes stare at me from behind the courthouse bushes

I looked back over at Atticus, who wasn't reading anymore.

He was looking through the barred windows and looked forward, expecting to see the road.

Instead, he saw me standing there.

His eyes widened slightly at the sight.

I only held out the items to him, not knowing how to react.

He looked at the watch and the handkerchief, both adorned with his name.

He smiled and began to laugh.

"I thought I lost these!"

I began to grin along with him, not knowing exactly what to do.

"I just had them... I don't know how. I'm really sorry about that."

"Don't be sorry, ma'am. I'm glad I have them back. It doesn't matter that I lost them. Thank you."

He looked over behind him.

"I think Tom will be fine for a few hours, won't you?"

I knew what was going to happen to Tom, to his children, and the town, and finally, Atticus himself.

"I suppose so."

Atticus left, in the true story, after the men in the cars spoke to him. And after his daughter saved his skin. Tom was alive the next day. He would be fine, I knew it.

"Your children are over there." I told him. "Right in those bushes."

It was then they exposed themselves. Scout, Jem, and Dill Baker Harris.

As real as I was. And as innocent as I imagined, each and every one of them.

Knowing Atticus did not scold them in the alternate occurrence, he did not then. He just told them to go home and that he would follow. It was late, he said, they should be asleep in bed.

"I've never seen you before." He commented, upon seeing me. "I don't see many teenagers around here."

"I don't live here. I don't know anyone or anything."

I knew more than he, but kept my mouth shut.

"How did you get here?"'

"I don't really know.. I'd tell you if that wasn't the case.. I was standing by the swamp and walked over here. And saw you."

"You don't look like you walked that far at all!"

It was a dream. A fantasy. Of course, I was still in mint condition. It only made sense in that strange, strange world of mine.

"Well, I guess I did..." I was at a loss for words. I had many questions I wanted to ask him. But none of them knew how to leave my lips.

I was at a loss. Completely, purely. Utterly.

"I think you should come home with me. For dinner. You look famished!"

Even in my dream world, things weren't at all perfect.

 _So much for self perception._

He and I walked together, almost leisurely down the sidewalks and streets of Maycomb until we ended up by the Radley house.

I stopped, but then caught up with him to go to his door.

He couldn't figure out I wasn't from Mockingbird. I wanted him to know nothing about my identity as an outsider. Not only an outsider, but an omniscient one.

It was late, about ten at night. Despite that, I could smell some food cooking in the kitchen.

I dared not to move down into that area. I knew what it looked like and who was inside, but again, I had to fake not hypothesizing that.

Atticus went who knows where, to who knows who. I assumed he went off to the children.

It seemed like forever, when I was standing there, but in reality, it was maybe a second or two.

He approached me again, at the door and walked me into the kitchen.

I was greeted with a full southern dinner. And a smile.

"I have to thank you again, for bringing me my watch back. My daughter loves it and she was worried she'd never see it again."

The thought of that made me smile too. "I didn't exactly find it, but, you're welcome. And what were you doing in front of the jail?"

I knew the answer, but asked the question anyway. Just for the sake of talking.

"I'm defending a black man, this town's against the idea. It's a big trial, and a long story. I'm not sure if you'll have time to hear it."

"I have time." I replied. "I _hope_ I have time."

"Well, there's this man who lives on the edge of town. He has a family and they're poor. They really have almost nothing to live off of. The family has seven children, and the oldest is an adult. A woman. My client used to walk past this man's house. And there almost always, like the rest of the children, was his daughter. She would ask him to do odd jobs, like lugging pails of water from the well and into their home. He would always work for free, And with a smile as well."

I listened to the story I was already well aware of, all while I ate my fried chicken and mashed potatoes.

"And one evening, Tom, my client, was walking past their home again. The adult daughter called him over to chop apart a chiffarobe. They needed firewood and the cabinet went unused, so he did as as he was told. Then, she claimed she couldn't reach something on top of her own cabinet. So, she told him to go inside her house and get it. When he walked inside, she followed and closed the door behind him. Next thing he knew, this girl was tackling him. She kissed him, and he didn't accept it. Her father came home and saw her, so he went running before he could figure out anything. And her father.. Well, he accused him of raping his daughter. I stand by my own belief; her father committed the crime. It happened, yes, but the wrong person is being punished for it."

Atticus took a deep breath. "I hope I explained what I needed to."

 _That sounds just about right.. Doesn't it?_

"I think so." I was busy stuffing my face with food. Real, southern food that I've never _really_ had before.

Calpurnia, the family help, fixed up the most food I've ever seen on one plate. (Considering that at my house, I eat leftovers almost every evening.)

There were crispy, greasy, but delectable fried chicken legs. Beside that was a heaping pile of perfectly buttered and smooth mashed potatoes, topped with equally as much gravy. Alongside the potatoes were portioned groups of fried okra and corn. She sat down two glasses of iced tea, and finally on a separate saucer dish, a piece of warm, aromatic crackling bread.

"So.. Where are you from?" He saw something was off, but decided not to comment on it. He wanted to know how I was there and why I changed what happened at the jail.

He knew who was in those cars, he was smarter than I was.

"Indiana." I stuttered.

"Interesting. Why would you come here then?"

"I don't know." I was honest. I remembered being by the bayou. That was it.

"This place is an interesting one, for sure." He looked like he pondered over distant and recent memories, trying to come up with a story to tell me.

I nodded my head in agreement. "Why would you take such a big risk? With this trial?"

He looked startled when I questioned him.

"I see the risk. I could get hurt, and so could my children. Things could go terribly on my end. People have called my children obscene names at school. One day, my daughter came home distressed. She fought a boy in the schoolyard trying to defend me."

He chuckled, "She's smart for her age, but it seems that sometimes, it's her downfall. Fighting isn't something I advocate. I advocate in justice and equality. And the people in this town, even if I've known them my whole life, they've just become cruel. If I have to take this risk to change perspective and let the truth come out, I will."

 _I was right. Exactly right._

Small footsteps rushed down the stairs from above. Then, they rushed into the other rooms, and finally, our own.

"Atticus, Mister Cunningham is here to see you! Jem said he's angry."

I realized what was going on. The scene shifted both time frame and location.

And that was all.

Atticus rushes instinctively to the door, and of course, I rushed to follow him.

The same cars from the jail were all parked along the street, and not just Mister Cunningham, but all of his racist friends also stood out in front of the porch, but they dared not to come any closer.

I peeked from the window and watched the same scene happen in a different place.

They weren't off to kill Tom, they were off to protest the trial. It still, really had the same effect. The children stayed behind my back for the majority of the encounter.

"Who are you?" Scout finally spoke up to me and tugged on the sleeve of my dress.

"Just a friend." I was unsure of what to say. I already knew her. It wasn't like I hadn't before, and it wasn't like I wouldn't again either.

"Then will you cover for me?"

The fight was getting rough outside, I knew what she was going to do.

She was going to stop it.

Her brother stood in the corner, unamused.

"Whoever you are, don't do it!"

I rebutted Jem swiftly and gave his sister that order. "Just go. I'll watch you."

Scout ran outside to her father. And I felt like I was living in the story. So much so, I had no idea I was asleep anymore.

 _"Entailments are bad, Mister Cunningham."_

Those words once more caused the men to drive away without doing any harm.

 _Maybe I don't exactly alter this story after all.._

Miss Maudie Atkinson rushed into the yard and into the door.

"I told you not to let her go outside!" Jem shouted at me.

I frowned, "She was doing the right thing!"

Maudie watched Jem glare at me.

"Maybe, for once, Jem, someone else did the right thing."

She looked tired, like she had just gotten out of bed.

"Atticus wants to see you outside." She explained to me. "Just go, don't question it. Before Stephanie keeps on waking up and making us watch these things..."'

I remembered prior to this event, Maudie's house caught fire. And she was living with the town gossip until her new house was built.

 _That_ just sounded like fun, didn't it?

I walked out the door, feeling the cold, night air all around me.

Scout was still standing outside with her father, she gave him a kiss on the cheek before giving me the same gesture.

"What are you doing?"

"Thanking you. For bringing the watch back..." She stopped and the continued her speech. "And everything. Goodnight, stranger!"

She rushed into the door and left me alone on the porch with her father.

"I'm going to thank you also. One last time. I didn't think you'd be the one, out of all the people I've met in my life, who would assist in saving my family's lives."

"You're welcome, and I really didn't think so either. I have no idea what I'm doing here, still."

Suddenly, I saw a pair of eyes peek from the window across the street.

 _It was Boo Radley. I pretended to not notice him._

It was then that I felt Atticus pull me into his arms. And at least when I recalled the story, he did this seldom.

I still saw Boo and Atticus, but then, I was somewhere else.

I was on the freeway again, and a sign greeted my plane of view.

 _"Welcome to Alabama!"_

I felt myself beginning to plaster a big grin on my face. I wasn't sure if it was I was just there mere seconds before or just if I was just excited that trip was almost _finally_ over.

The truck was not at all different than it was before. We were all crammed into a space much too small to contain us. My younger brother was playing a video game. My twin was sleeping like I was, on the opposite side by the opposite window. My father was driving and playing his country albums on the stereo.

" _My home's in Alabama, no matter where I lay my head. My home's in Alabama, southern born and southern bred.."_

Comparing north to south would be a pretty stupid metaphor, I thought, as I reached for my writer's notebook. I thought it'd be crazy. I needed to write a new piece for Scholastic. I thought one somewhat about Monroeville would be nice. Perfect, actually.

As I began to start writing, that metaphor wasn't such a bad idea anymore.

 _If you think about it,_ _Indiana and Alabama aren't really that much different after all._


End file.
